Purging
by DreamWriter98
Summary: No one can walk away from war unscathed. Everyone leaves changed, for better or for worse. Eragon, Murtagh, Nasuada, and even Arya deal with changes in their lives. They struggle to adjust and purge their lives of the last vestiges of evil and darkness left by Galbatorix and the war.
1. Author's Note

I've decided to start writing again, and I revisited my Fanfiction account. Upon finding this story, I was filled with many conflicting emotions. I am so thankful for the support that I had, and I'm sorry that I let this story die. However, I feel that I was taking this story in the wrong direction, and it had no room to grow anymore. So, lately I've gotten some inspiration for a new plot. Hopefully, this time the story will be well written and finished. Thank you all for your support for me so early in my writing. God bless you all on this day of thanksgiving.

Wendy


	2. Chapter 1

Nasuada let out a drawn out sigh. Lord Ashcroft would not stop drumming his fingernails on the table as Lord Melbourne droned on about Surda and its natural resources in yet another attempt to win more council members to his side. Nasuada resisted the urge to pin Ashcroft's hands to the table with a knife and returned to taking notes. These debates had been going on since she'd become queen. It seemed half the noblemen and women of Ilirea were determined to annex Surda to Alagaesia once again. Honestly, Nasuada couldn't imagine why. They had peaceful relations with their country. Noble marriages had been arranged to ensure peace. There had even been talk of Orin and Nasuada marrying. Things were peaceful and fine as they were. There was no need to look for trouble.

Lord Melbourne finally sat down looking at Nasuada, daring her to rebut his argument. Nasuada stood and cleared her throat. "Thank you, Lord Melbourne for your insightful speech. However, I think it would be unwise to take such actions against Surda. Surda has been its own country for a long time now. Its government is well established and the country is at peace with itself and with us. Why go looking for trouble when there is none, my lords? Surda is a steady trading partner, yet we are not solely dependent on her for any one good, and our economy is booming as it is. Why would we risk rebellions and another war when Alagaesia is prosperous as it is?" Nasuada looked at each one of the council members in turn. Some nodded while some openly scoffed at her. Lord Melbourne opened his mouth to speak again, but Nasuada quickly cut him off. "And so, my lords and ladies, I leave you to think on this and we'll vote again tomorrow. Perhaps then we can come to a consensus." With a nod, Nasuada stood and exited the room, a smile of relief on her face. Jörmundur followed close behind her, as always, her faithful and most trusted advisor.

Nasuada turned to him. "I don't know what I would do without you, Jörmundur. How many times did you prevent Melbourne and Belfor from strangling each other?"

Jörmundur smiled good-naturedly. " I lost count after the knife came out for the first time."

Nasuada laughed. "I almost wished you hadn't stopped Belfor. Melbourne's jabs at me got to me even that early in the meeting. I don't know how you can handle all of them so diplomatically. My family owes you much for your long years of service."

"No, Majesty. You owe me nothing. However, I do feel as if I am getting old. Perhaps it's time I got myself an assistant, someone to help me break up the fights during council meetings." Jörmundur smiled again and chuckled quietly to himself.

"Perhaps you should replace the entire council while you're at it. The gods know I could use a more competent group of people around me. I need people that ill work with me to improve the kingdom, not people interested only in controlling me for power. I know I'm young and have much to learn, but how can I if I'm surrounded by power hungry snakes and silver tongued foxes?" Nasuada sighed in frustration and sat down at a convenient bench. Jörmundur joined her.

"Majesty, if I may be so bold as to suggest and idea?"

"Go ahead Jörmundur. I always value your advice."

"If you want a more competent council, I suggest you look outside of Ilirea. In my time with the Varden, I find that it is often the common folk that possess the most wisdom. Look to people besides the nobles living in their houses filled with gold. Many of them have nothing but gossip and greed filling their heads. Give the farmers and merchants a chance to make a difference. This is their country as much as it is yours. The people would love you for it."

Nasuada was quiet for a minute. "Are you sure it would work?" she asked quietly. "What if the nobles become angry and revolt. They control virtually the entire economy. What would I do then?"

"Don't exclude the nobles completely. Not all of them are fools. I'm proposing a mix of the two. This would give you a wider perspective on many important matters. Many times the nobles don't represent the will of their people. Any don't care for the welfare of their subjects. If you were to have common people in you council, you would know what the common people think, and you would anger them much less."

Nasuada looked down at her hands. "Jörmundur," her voice cracked. Her eyes, normally filled with strength and determination, showed her youth and vulnerability. "Jörmundur, I'm afraid. It's only been a month and already I fear that I'll ruin this kingdom."

Jörmundur put his arm comfortingly around her shoulder. "I have absolute faith in you, Majesty, just as I did your father. "

"Thank you, Jörmundur."

He smiled and bowed and he stood. "I you would excuse me, Majesty, I have a lot of paper work to finish." Nasuada nodded and stood as well.

"Thank you for your advice. I'll sleep on it." Nasuada turned and walked to her private chambers. It was at times like these that she wished her father were still here. He would have known what to do. "I miss you," she whispered in to the chilly night air.

Eragon's breath steamed as he finished the third level of the Rimgar. His brow was covered with sweat. Even after so long he still wasn't as flexible as he would have liked. He wiped his ands on his tunic and took a deep breath of the night air. The smell of pines was comforting, reminding him of Alagaesia and Arya. He looked up at the star shining through the canopy of pine needles. They were really quite beautiful, bright against the black of the sky.

Saphira lifted her head as Eragon walked over to where she lay. She purred as Eragon rubbed her nose. _You know, Eragon, it's been a month since we left._

Eragon nodded absently. _So, are you going to scry Roran like you promised? His baby is cute. I like seeing her. _

Eragon smiled. _She is very cute, _he admitted. _I suppose I could do it tomorrow._ Saphira snorted in satisfaction. The walked back to their house together in silence. The pines here were ancient, some larger than those in Du Weldenvarden. It was one of the reason he and the elves had chosen this spot to raise the new race of dragons and riders. The game was plentiful, more than enough for the future dragons. The trees were large enough to sing into houses. That had been one of the first things Eragon and the elves had done upon landing. Secretly, Eragon thought that the familiar architecture eased the homesickness of the elves. Most had not left Du Weldenvarden before being sworn to protect Eragon. The houses were comforting to Eragon as well. The swaying of the tree in the wind soothed him when he woke from his nightmares. It also reminded him of Alagaesia, and they were spectacular examples of art that magic could create.

Eragon sat on his bed and pulled off his boots, laying back and staring at the rough wood of the ceiling. He folded his hands over his chest and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, or at least fall into a waking dream. Rest eluded him, however. Instead, the memories of what he'd lost haunted him, like they had almost every night since the end of the war. When he was on the move, fighting and helping the Varden, he didn't have time to dwell on the past. Now, however, it seemed every moment he rested his past came to him: the smoking ruins of the house and Garrow's twisted corpse, the garish bodies of the priests of Helgrind, and the death. The lifeless faces staring unseeingly into the sky, eyes glazed and hollow. Eragon shuddered at the memory. Saphira's mind brushed against his. She felt it as well, but not as vividly as he. They spent a moment comforting each other, then Eragon pushed himself into a sitting position. He drove away the memories the only way he knew how. He climbed out his window and into the boughs of the pine tree. Leaning against the trunk, he breathed in the smell of the pines, letting memories of Arya replace those of the war and the hurt he'd caused. Finally, the weight on his chest lightened and he could breath again.


	3. Chapter 2

Nasuada sat on the edge of her balcony, looking down over one of the numerous palace gardens. It seemed Galbatorix had loved beauty, although his perception of beauty was a bit twisted. Nasuada still shuddered at the thought of the burrowing grub, weaving lines of fire underneath her skin, causing a pain so agonizing that no spell Murtagh uttered could dull the pain. Yet Galbatorix had handled the creature as a mother would a child, fondly smiling at its sharp screeches as it branded lines of fire under her skin. Nasuada shivered at the memory, and she struggled to banish the though from her mind.

Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Murtagh. She often found herself thinking of him: the ways he had helped her during her capture, and the memory of what could have been, even if it was a dream fabricated by Galbatorix. The sight of him, standing there, for once at peace and free of burden, had lifted her heart. For that instant, it had seemed like the world was a perfect place. And then the perfect dream had been shattered as the mind that reached out to comfort her instead sent chills down her spine. Galbatorix's mind had been so cold and hard and cruel, so vastly different from Murtagh's. His mind had been kind and warm, yet also so sad and lost.

However, as time went on, she could almost sense a growing happiness inside him as his hope of escaping Galbatorix grew.

Nasuada wished Murtagh were there with her, sitting on the balcony, enjoying the early morning sun bathing the garden in a warm golden color. He would have enjoyed the way the light spilled over the garden walls covered with ivy. The early songbirds sang. Their bright songs filled the air as the brook running through the garden harmonized smoothly with their lilting notes. Nasuada wished she could freeze time right there, in that moment, and forget all the troubles the day was sure to bring. She wanted the world to be perfect and simple, without the troubles of finance and politics.

The serenity of the moment was shattered as the maid came in with her breakfast. Nasuada sighed. It was foolish to think that the moment could last forever. The world stopped for no one. The maid had left Nasuada's breakfast on the table, along with her mail. Nasuada surveyed the items laid before her. It was her typical breakfast: a poached egg topped with ground black pepper brought in by traders from the Hadarac desert, a bowl of porridge with fresh fruit, and a cup of cold milk. She finished her breakfast before opening any of the letters. The vast majority of the letters told her what she already knew. Crime was still a problem throughout most parts of the kingdom. There was flooding on parts of the Jiet River and people needed relief. As she finished reading the letters, Nasuada pulled out a sheet of parchment and began penning a letter to Arya. Vanir believed it would be wise for the two races to become less independent and more united. Nasuada thought the same. She hoped that a union between their races would result in less conflict and superstition and a stronger alliance in the face of potential conflict.

As Nasuada wrote the letter, she found herself getting restless. She missed the days when the Varden was still just a small organization residing in the protection of the halls of the great dwarven lords. She'd been a child, free to explore every twist and turn of the tunnel, without a care in the world. She even missed the days when she was leader of the Varden. Though the times had been difficult and the situation dire, she'd still had a certain degree of freedom. She could take long walks through open fields, feeling the wind in her hair. She could dip her toes in a cool stream and let the sun warm her eyelids. Now, it seemed she had not time for such pleasures. She was always chained to one chair or another.

Finishing her letter to Arya, Nasuada carefully pressed her seal into the soft wax and left it on the breakfast tray for the maid to collect. She went to stand at her balcony again, but her restlessness grew even stronger. The knowledge that just beyond the walls was a bustling market street, lined with merchant and vendors of every sort tempted her to abandon her responsibilities. It would be simple to escape the confines of the walls. She could easily climb from the balcony o the nearby trellis. From there, she just had to scale the low garden wall and skirt around behind the stables. From there, she would only have to cross a small courtyard and then she'd reach the water-gate. It would be open in the early morning to allow barrels of supplies to float through. It would be simple to swim through and into the city. Nasuada found herself shifting her weight to the balls of her feet, ready to escape the monotony of her duties. She jumped onto the balcony railing and reached for the trellis. She paused just as she was about to climb down.

She had a responsibility to protect her people. Hundreds had been displaced by the recent floods. The brigands still roaming the country needed to be dealt with. Nasuada, shut her eyes and tried to forget her responsibilities, but she couldn't. With a sigh, she jumped back down. Her adventure would have to wait for another time. She rang for her maid, signaling she was done with her breakfast and ready to be dressed. She'd wasted enough time already.

"Jormundur, I can't do this anymore." Nasuada sat at her desk, papers scattered all around her. "Just an hour ago, I asked Lord Felmur if there were sufficient funds to provide extra relief for the flood victims. He had the audacity to not only refuse to answer my question, but told me that the money would be wasted!" Nasuada's voice rose in pitch as she unleashed her agitation on her most trusted advisor.

Jormundur nodded, then cleared his throat. "I'm sure I could talk with him, Majesty, but…"

"No, I don't want you to talk with him," Nasuada interrupted, pounding her fist into her desk. "I want you to get rid of him, along with every other nobleman in this entire castle! I am tired of being surrounded by selfish fools. I am sure they manage their estates perfectly, but this country is not an estate!"

"I would advise against dismissing all of them, Majesty. Some of them, I agree, are complete fools. Others you simply have doing the wrong jobs. Lord Felmur, for example, would do well on he military council. He has an acute mind. Lady Adelaide will do well as the treasurer. She is quick with numbers and manages money well. She is not overly stingy or prodigal."

"Very well, Jormundur. I want a list of changes you would make to my council by tomorrow afternoon."

"Of course, Majesty. However, be careful. You are the Queen, not I. Do not give too much power to me, else others will think you weak and easily manipulated," Jormundur warned.

Nasuada nodded, and Jormundur turned to leave. As he reached the door, Nasuada called out, "How much sleep did you get last night, Jormundur?"

Jormundur turned and smiled. "Did I look tired, Majesty?" he asked in reply.

"No, but you look older than I ever remember. You have bags under your eyes and your step is not as firm as before. I'm starting to think you get less sleep than me."

"Very observant of you. I got four hours last night, with a short nap in the afternoon the day before."

Nasuada shook her head. "I want you to get more rest tonight. That's a command. And get yourself some help. I've been unfair to put so much responsibility on you. I suppose it's time I got to know some of the nobles like you do."

"Thank you for your concern, Nasauda," he said with a nod. "If you have any questions about any of them, feel free to come to me. I've known them much longer than you think." With a small bow, Jormundur turned and strode out the door.

Eragon leaned against Saphira, feeling her side rise and fall steadily with each breath as she napped. He stared off into the distance, enjoying the quiet of the forest. The tranquility was a welcome change from the turmoil that had plagued Alagaesia just months before. He enjoyed being able to sit and meditate, enjoying the sweetness of the air and the coolness of the breeze. He and Saphira finally had time to sit and just enjoy being in each other's presence. Eragon shut his eyes and allowed himself to doze off in the warm afternoon sun.

Eragon woke to the sound of fighting. Metal clashed with metal, shattering the stillness in the air. His throat tightened, and he felt his heart beat quickening as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. He sat, paralyzed, as images flashed before his eyes. He saw the battles he had fought in, and all the destruction he had caused. And suddenly, he was there, at the battle of the Burning Plains with Brisingr in his hands. Imperial soldiers were all around him, closing in. Instinctively, he raised his sword to parry a thrust and plunged his blade into the soldier's chest. He felt the bones give way to his blade, and warm blood sprayed his face and the tip of his sword pierced the soldier's heart. The smell of blood and burning sand clogged his nostrils. Eragon closed his eyes, trying to forget the face of the man he'd just killed. When he opened them again, the man was gone. In his place was a Ra'zac. It hissed and opened his beak, engulfing Eragon's face in a cloud of gas. He reeled back choking and coughing. The other soldiers began closing in on him, and Eragon swung his sword in a wide arc in a desperate attempt to keep them back. Suddenly, through the dust, he saw Brom. His silver hair flashed in the burning sun as he fought. Tears sprang unbidden to Eragon's eyes. "Father," he called out, willing Brom to hear him above the din of battle and the cries of the dying. Eragon fought his way though the soldiers, desperately trying to reach Brom. "Father," he called out again. This time, Brom turned at the sound of his voice. Their eyes met over the chaos of the battle, and for that one second, time froze. A rare smile broke out on Brom's face, and Eragon wanted to laugh with joy. His feet carried him forward, and he found himself running towards Brom. Suddenly, he felt an iron grip around his arm, holding him back. He turned around angrily, only to find Roran. His face was grave and he nodded in Brom's direction. Confused, Eragon turned around. Brom was on his knees, a knife protruding from his chest. A sob tore out of Eragon's throat. "No!" he cried out, tears running down his face, washing away the grime of battle.

_Eragon. Eragon!_ Saphira's mind pressed against his in concern. Eragon gasped, his breath coming in short pants. His brow was beaded with sweat and he tasted bile in his throat. _It's not real, Little One. You just imagined it._

_ It was so real._ Eragon looked down at his hands, expecting them to be covered in blood and dust. _I could smell the blood in the air and feel my sword cutting through flesh and bone. I saw Brom die right in front of me. _He felt a tear slip down his cheek, and he let it fall. _Everything was so tangible, so concrete, Saphira. How could I have imagined it all?_

_ The mind is powerful, Eragon. You should know that. It can bring to life our greatest desires and fears. _Saphira blew a soft puff of warm air in face. _The things you see, they're caused by the guilt and remorse you feel. You have to learn to let them go. Peace is elusive and hard to attain, and sometimes you have to fight for it. _

Eragon looked off into the distance, not saying anything. _I suppose you're right, _he finally said. _But don't you ever see the faces of the soldiers you killed or feel sorry for all the death you caused?_

Saphira seemed to think for a moment, then responded. _I feel a fraction of what you feel. How could I not? But I know that I was doing what was right, and I feel no remorse._

_ Who am I to decide who lives and dies? I am a man just like them, though I may have abilities of an elf. What right do I have to play god?_

Saphira paused for a moment. _If there are gods out there, they've given you a responsibility, Eragon. They've chosen you to be a dragon rider, a keeper of the peace. It is your job to fulfill your responsibility, and you did. You helped bring peace to Alagaesia again. _

Eragon was silent. No matter what Saphira said, he could still hear the cries of the dying on the battlefield and see the mad terror in the eyes of the men he'd killed. Slowly, he got up and brushed dirt off his tunic. _Thank you for your words of comfort, _he said to Saphira,_ but I cannot forgive myself so easily. _He laid a hand on Saphira's shoulder, and they walked back to their tree house together.

_ I'm here for you, Little One,_ Saphira said gently. She stopped and lowered her head, looking into Eragon's eyes.

_I know,_ Eragon replied. He gave a small smile. Saphira blinked and nodded, and they pressed on.


	4. Chapter 3

"Up, keep your sword up!" Jormundur instructed Nasuada as they sparred. "Watch your footing. Always be aware of your surrounding!" he admonished as she stumbled over a bit of loose pavement. The courtyard echoed with the crack of wood against wood. Nasuada was breathing hard, sweat sliding down her back as the sun beat down. She blinked sweat out of her eyes as she and Jormundur circled, each looking for an opening. Suddenly, she found the sun in her eyes. She barely had time to curse at herself for being so careless when Jormundur's flurry of attacks struck. Desperately, she tried to block the sudden onslaught, but she just couldn't bring her sword up fast enough. Jormundur's sword cracked her sharply on her collarbone, ending their match.

Nasuada stood in the sun, squinting her eyes against the sun and rubbing the place where Jormundur had struck her. She had at least half a dozen bruises on her body now. They'd been sparring daily as he believed she should be able to protect herself. Nasuada heartily agreed, but ruefully wished that the price of safety was not a body beaten black and blue.

"You're getting better," Jormundur said, nodding his approval. "You still need hours of practice, though," he added. "You may have the basics and know the technique, but you wouldn't be able to hold you own against a decent swordsman, much less in battle. But overall, good improvement." He gave her a smile and put away his sword. Nasuada was glad to finally be able to rest. Although she was stronger than she had been when she'd first started, her muscles still ached from keeping the weighted wood in constant motion.

Nasuada stretched out her muscles, feeling the sharp twinge of pain and her they protested. She stifled a groan. "How long until my muscles stop aching after each practice?" she asked Jormundur.

"A couple more weeks, most likely," he answered. "It will help if you bathe in ice tonight. I often do it myself."

Nasuada raised her eyebrows in surprise. "What do you need the ice bath for?" she asked.

Jormundur laughed. "I'm not young anymore, Nasuada. My joints and muscles cannot handle everything they used to." He wiped the palms of his hands on his tunic tail. He and Nasuada sat for a while in silence, enjoying the silence and each other's company. Eventually, by some unspoken agreement, they both stood. There was much to be done, and little time to do it all. Jormundur gave Nasuada a small bow, and turned towards the arching terrace that lead to his office.

Nasuada stood watching him go for a second, the called out to him. He turned around at the sound of her voice. "I…I just wanted to thank you, Jormundur. Ever since my father died in Farthen Dur, you've taken his place. I don't know that I could've come this far without your help."

Jormundur smiled and walked back to Nasuada, enfolding her in a hug. "Nasuada, you are like the daughter I never had. You've proven to me time and time again that you are strong and capable of leadership. I am proud to serve you, and honored that you hold me in such high esteem. But don't doubt your own strength. One day, I will pass to be with my fathers as your father Ajihad has. I cannot be here forever, and I need not be here forever. I am confident that even without me, you would have overthrown Galbatorix. Your father would be proud of all you've done."

Nasuada felt tears coming to her eyes at Jormundur's words. "I don't know where I'd be without you, Jormundur," Nasuada said.

"You would be exactly where you are right now," Jormundur replied confidently. "I have no doubt about it. When your father first died, I thought you incompetent. However, you thwarted my plans to control you, and I knew then that you were not a weak-willed child. You were a queen in the making." He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I'm glad to hear that at least on of us has confidence in me," Nasuada said with a laugh, and Jormundur smiled too. "Could I ask you a favor, Jormundur?" Nasuada asked suddenly.

"Of course. You know you can ask me anything."

"I want to hold a banquet in order to get to know those in my council better. And I want you to escort me in, since my father cannot."

"It would be my honor," Jormundur replied.

The wind blew in great gusts, sending sand flying everywhere. It found every crevice in Thorn's scales and got into Murtagh's eyes despite the fact that he'd wrapped his face in a cloth. The winds made it impossible to breathe. Murtagh muttered a curse, wondering how the nomads survived.

_We should have stayed in the north. You insisted on turning to the south and east. What in the world possessed you? And what possessed me to go along you're your plan? _Thorn growled. Murtagh clenched his teeth and didn't respond. He huddled under Thorn's wing, trying to ignore the taste of sand in his mouth and the sting of the sand scouring his skin. His lips were chapping, and he could feel his throat swelling, begging for water.

Eventually, the wind died down, and the sand settled. Thorn lifted his wing, revealing a completely different landscape. Dunes had been flattened, and new one built up higher than their predecessors. Murtagh stood for a second, stunned and disoriented. The pain brought him back to his senses. His skin was covered in scratches and cuts, and when he looked over at Thorn, he saw that his dragon's wings were torn and bleeding. "I'm so sorry," he said as he healed Thorn's wings. "I didn't know it would be like this. It was never this bad when Eragon and I traveled through here to get to Farthen Dur." Thorn acknowledged his apology with a puff of smoke and a low growl.

They rested in the shad of one of the new sand dunes, sharing water that Murtagh drew out of the ground. He had to rest often and replenish his energy from Za'roc's pommel. The water was deep and not easily accessed. _We should rest here for a while. We've traveled for two days almost without rest, and we don't have the eldunari anymore. We cannot endure such conditions as we once did, especially me. You may be a dragon, but I am still human despite everything Galbatorix did to me._ Murtagh felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as he thought of everything he'd done, especially to Nasuada. "I can't forgive, but I can understand," she'd said. He couldn't blame her. He'd probably caused her more pain than anyone else.

Thorn growled in agreement. _Rest, and I will watch for danger. We can switch later._ Murtagh was too tired to respond. Already, his eyes were closing, the warm sand and the familiar rumble of Thorn's breathing lulling him to sleep.

Arya strolled through the gardens of Tialdari Hall, with Firnen trailing close behind her. He was growing fast, faster than she had thought possible. He seemed to thrive in the clear forest airs perfumed by towering pines. She was proud of their progress as rider and dragon. He was just over a year old, but Arya felt as though they'd known each other forever.

They'd become inseparable. The elves altered Arya's chambers to resemble the riders' tree houses so Firnen would never be far. Already, he'd taken residence in the throne room, curling up next to the throne and watching everything with bright green eyes. The elves were obstinate and not inclined to change. She found herself dealing most with diplomacy between the races, and her experience as ambassador let her handle the matters with relative ease. Many days she found she had nothing to do at all. She filled those idle days by training with Firnen and roaming the gardens of her ancestral home.

She and Firnen walked along the paths aimlessly. Firnen carefully kept his tail high and clear of the plants. Arya was suddenly reminded of how Saphira. She had taken such delicate care with her tail that it had taken Arya every once of her self-control to maintain a straight face. Arya found herself turning her feet toward the edge of the gardens, tracing the path she'd taken as she showed Eragon her home. It seemed like ages had passed since that idle afternoon.

The black morning glory hung from the branches of the willow tree. The rushes sung quietly as a gentle breeze blew through. "Open," Arya breathed, and the flower opened its delicate petals. The dark colors of the petals and the sweet smell of the nectar have her a sudden pang of nostalgia. Faolin had been more than just a friend, and the loss still pricked at her heart. And there, around the base of the tree, lay the golden lilies. The pain they brought was strong and fresh. She'd only just begun to allow herself to imagine a life in which Eragon was a part when he'd left.

Arya felt tears coming to her eyes as Firnen touched her gently on the shoulder with his nose, letting her know he understood. He knew the pain and loss she'd suffered: first Faolin, then her mother, then Eragon. Arya could not imagine how she would have coped without Firnen. She was glad for his silence now. He knew when she needed words of comfort and when she just needed the strength of his presence. _Thank you._ She could find no other words that could convey her gratitude. Yet he understood, despite the inadequacy, as he always did.

She turned from the lake and walked back toward her rooms. Firnen followed, his presence grounding her and giving her the will to continue.


	5. Chapter 4

Murtagh trudged through the burning sand, leaving a meandering trail through the dunes. Thorn flew low overhead, sometimes flying higher, sometimes going further ahead, but never leaving Murtagh far behind. Slavers were still common in the area, and although Murtagh was an able warrior and magician, he was weary from traveling. Thorn sensed that Murtagh's strength was seeping away, into the sand, the heat, the desolate air. He had an inkling of what was on Murtagh's mind, but Murtagh kept his mind so closed, it was hard to know for sure. Thorn only knew that Murtagh did not want to talk about what was on his mind. Murtagh had occasionally become like this when they'd been under Galbatorix's command, but never this distant, and never this quiet. Thorn worried about Murtagh. He worried that he would lose the only friend he had in the world, his closest companion. Thorn saw Murtagh stumble. He tucked his wings to his side and dove to the ground with an urgency he'd never felt before.

The doors to the ballroom swung open. "Queen Nasuada," the guards at the door announced. Nasuada glanced at Jormundur, seeking reassurance. She remembered the way her father's councilors had belittled her when she'd become the leader of the Varden. The experience was not one she was eager to repeat, yet it seemed that it was inevitable. She sensed the nobles' scorn and skepticism when they sat in the council room, when they passed her in the halls, when they whispered about her behind her back. They doubted her, and wanted to exploit her inexperience. She'd led a rebellion, but she'd never led a country. It seemed the only person that believed in her was Jormundur. "Ready?" he asked, smiling reassuringly. Nasuada gave a nod, and Jormundur led her into the waiting room.

The room was completely silent. The quiet was oppressive. Everywhere Nasuada turned, people stared back at her. She saw some with open hostility in their eyes, others with curiosity. Some people she could not read no matter how hard she tried. Panic crept up her throat, and she felt the urge to run away, as far as possible. Run from her fears, embodied in the eyes of the people standing in the room. But Jormundur was there, his steady hand warm on her arm, reassuring. Father, she thought, give me strength.

Nasuada lifted her chin higher and straightened her back. "Thank you all for coming tonight. I know that I've been in this city for but a short time and have much to learn. Many of you doubt me, and I don't blame you. I am young and have no experience leading a country, despite the fact that I led a rebellion. But I promise all of you, I am doing everything in my power to learn. We need not be enemies; we can be allies. I invited you all here in an attempt to get to know you better so we can work together to build up our country."

Nasuada's monologue was greeted with silence. She held her breath, waiting for a reaction. She stood utterly still, not daring to blink. As the silence stretched on, she bean to doubt the wisdom of her words.

"Then count me in," a low voice said. Nasuada looked around, searching for the owner of the voice. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him. For an instant, she saw Murtagh looking back at her.

Eragon stood up and stretched, examining his handiwork. His muscles ached and he felt incredibly tired, but it was worth it. He reached down and touched one of the petals of the flower he'd just sung out of the ground. Despite his fatigue, he began singing again, coaxing another seed to life. Another flower sprang out of the dirt, and Eragon started his song again. The words died on his lips as bright splotches of color danced in front of his eyes. His limbs began to shake, and his breath came in labored gasps, as if he'd just run a hundred leagues.

Eragon fell to his knees. _Eragon!_ he heard Saphira cry out in his mind. His sweat dripped into the dirt despite the coolness of the wind. Through his hazy vision, he saw Aren. Slowly, he fingered the ring, feeling the pool of energy stored in the ring. He was tempted to use the energy. It would be simple to reach in and take what he needed. The desire grew overwhelming. With the last of his strength, he took the ring off his finger and flung it as far as he could. It landed among the flowers he'd brought to life. _Eragon! What are you doing? _Eragon could feel Saphira's distress and confusion even as his mind began to cloud over.

The world tilted, and Eragon heard a dull thud as his ears began to ring. He heard a roar, distantly, and he knew it was Saphira. _Just let me go,_ he begged her. Eragon turned his head as his vision grew black at the edges. He caught a glimpse of the flowers, swaying with the wind. They're beautiful, he thought, just as darkness enveloped him.

"I don't know how to thank you. You saved me a lot of embarrassment," Nasuada laughed, remembering the cold sweat beading her forehead and the crushing silence that had come after her speech.

"Well, I am sworn to serve the queen, and that means helping her out of difficult situations," Ethen acceded with a slight bow of his head.

"Difficult might be an under statement. I would have described it as terrifying." Nasuada tilted her head and studied the man standing in front of her. Her breath still caught in her throat when she looked at him. He looked so similar to Murtagh. They had the same dark hair, strong jaw, and handsome face. They had the same build: a broad chest and long legs. The only difference was that Ethen had eyes that were a rich brown flecked with gold instead of a dark grey. And, he smiled much more readily than Murtagh had.

A strand of hair had fallen onto his forehead, and Nasuada had a sudden urge to brush it back in place. Before she could act on impulse, she heard Jormundur's voice behind her. "Queen Nasuada, I was just looking for you. I see you've met Ethen."

Nasuada spun around, thankful for Jormundur's intervention. "Jormundur, you know Ethen?" She glanced back at him.

"Yes. His father and I are good friends. We grew up together and served in the military together before I defected and joined the Varden." Jormundur reached out to shake Ethen's hand and pulled him into a fond embrace. "I haven't seen your father here tonight. Did he come?" Jormundur asked Ethen, looking around.

"No. Unfortunately, he's been feeling unwell lately. He couldn't make it tonight."

"Well, I'm glad you could make it even if your father could not." Jormundur turned to Nasuada. "Queen Nasuada, if you wouldn't mind, there are a few people I would like you to meet," he said, offering his arm to her.

Nasuada nodded, taking his arm. She smiled at Ethen. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, but if you would excuse me, duty calls. Perhaps we'll meet again some time and we could talk then."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Ethen said with a bow. "It was an honor to make your acquaintance."

Jormundur led her away. "He's a charming young man, and competent, too. He's been managing his father's estate for quite a few years now."

"Yes, I can believe that. You know, Jormundur, I hardly know anything about your past before the Varden. I didn't know you grew up in Urû'baen and joined Galbatorix's army. I'd like to hear more about your past, at some point." Nasuada stole an appetizer from a passing servant, nibbling on it as they moved around the room. She hadn't had a bite to eat since lunch hours earlier.

"Yes, of course. But right now, I'd like you to meet some of my old friends. I believe they can help you bring to life the Alagaesia you dream of."

Nasuada was silent for a moment. "Thank you," she finally said, "for everything."

"Don't thank me, Nasuada. I should thank you for honoring me with your trust. You are like the child I never had. I am more than happy to assist you in any way I can."

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Jormundur introduced her to countless people, and towards the end of the evening she could hardly remember their names. Her feet ached from walking in the new shoes that had been made for the night. Her stomach was tight and angry from lack of food, and her tongue was dry from talking. But her heart was light. Jormundur had introduced her to people filled with wisdom, compassion, and a strong sense of justice. They'd filled her with a sense of hope and the confidence to push forward.

Eragon woke in his bed, staring at the twisting boughs of the pine tree above his head. He sat up slowly, dazed and confused. The last thing he remembered was the flowers and the darkness. He turned and saw Saphira curled up by his bed, anger burning in her eyes.

"What," he began, but Saphira cut him off with a sharp growl and a snap of her jaws.

_Don't ever do that again._ Her voice dripped with fury.

_Do what?_ Eragon snapped back, annoyed and frustrated and confused with her anger.

_Do what? Are you jesting? If I hadn't gotten you back here to the elves in time, you would have died. What where you thinking out there? You know how much energy it takes to sing a single flower from a seed. You sang at least three. Why didn't you use the energy in Aren, or the life around you? Are you mad?_

Eragon remained silent as Saphira fumed, smoke drifting from her nostrils. Eragon folded his hand in his lap and stared down at them. _I don't know why I did what I did, but I wish you hadn't saved me. _Eragon was taken aback by the wave of anger he felt from Saphira. He continued before Saphira could say anything. _I'm tired of this life. Do you know what I've done, Saphira? Do you know how many lives I've taken? I see the men and women I've killed every night in my dreams. I hear their cries in the wind and see their faces in the stars. I know no peace. I've caused so much death. I just wanted my last act to one of life and creation, not destruction._

Eragon felt Saphira's anger fade. _Little One. _She touched his forehead with her nose. _I can feel your pain, and it hurts me to see you like this. Your shoulders have borne a burden no one should have to bear. Eragon, look at me. Death is not the way to escape your pain. You have to forgive yourself. What you did was necessary. There was no other way to stop Galbatorix. Don't forget the lives lost, lest you forget the costs of war and tyranny. But remember also those you've saved. _Saphira paused, waiting for Eragon to way something. When he didn't she continued. _You still have much to live for. A new generation of Riders is about to be born. You must be there to lead them. My race is about to be reborn, and you must help us. Your life is full of purpose, Eragon. You cannot run from your destiny or who you are. Besides, what do you think would happen to me if you died?_

Saphira let the question hang in the air. _I didn't think about that,_ Eragon admitted. _I'm sorry._ The words felt so inadequate, but Eragon didn't know what else he could say.

Saphira blinked, accepting his apology. _I forgive you, Eragon, but I still worry for you. I fear you've lost your will to live. I'm afraid you will fade away until you are nothing but a shadow of who you are. Find your fire, Eragon, and learn to live again. _

Eragon closed his eyes, thinking about everything Saphira had said. He looked up and saw a tiny grass boat drift through his window. His heart caught in his throat. With a shaking hand, he reached out and plucked it out of the air. A tear fell from his eyes and splashed onto the dry blades of grass woven together to form the magic vessel. "Arya," he whispered. He thought of the times they'd shared. He thought of Roran and Katrina and their daughter, Ismira. He thought of Nasuada and Murtagh. He thought of Brom and Oromis and everyone else that had died fighting Galbatorix. They'd supported him. They'd believed in him, in his ability to change the world. Slowly, he opened his fingers, letting the boat fly on in its endless journey. _You're right,_ he said to Saphira. _It's time I started to live again._


	6. Chapter 5

Arya reached out her hand, reveling in the cold air and wind on her face. The cloud shrouded her hand in a white mist, droplets of water clinging to her skin. She laughed out loud at the pure joy of flying among the clouds. She could feel Firnen's pleasure as well. The wind seemed to blow all worries and burdens away, leaving only a warm sensation of pure bliss.

Firnen suddenly spun into a sharp dive, and Arya felt her heart jump at the thrill of the unexpected drop. Moments before he crashed into the treetops, Firnen snapped open his wings and rose once again into the air. Arya's breath came in short gasps, her heart beat wildly in her chest, and her face was graced by a wide smile. Firnen soared lazily on the wind, circling high above the pine forests and rocky bluffs of Ellesmera. _Firnen, look, _Arya said, pointing below. It was barely visible from so high up, but there was no way it could be anything else.

_Do you want to visit?_ Firnen asked, his voice tinged with sadness. Arya nodded, not daring to say anything. So many emotions were churning in her mind, and she knew Firnen felt the same way.

They landed on the dirt, and Arya slid to the ground, landing lightly in the dirt. There was no sound except the bright singing of a bird and the rustle of pine needles in the breeze. Arya stepped hesitantly towards the hut, Firnen following close behind. She almost expected Oromis to come out the door and greet her as he had so many times before, offering to make some tea. Firnen gently nudged Arya's shoulder. _You miss him very much._

Arya brushed her hand across her eyes, pushing back the tears. _Yes,_ she answered. _He was a good friend._

Arya stepped forward and entered the hut. For a moment Arya saw Oromis bent over a book, his white hair glowing in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Then she blinked and the vision was gone. Sadness filled Arya. Galbatorix had taken so much from her. For the first time since her mother's funeral she allowed herself to grieve for her losses. She wept for her Oromis and Glaedr, for Faolin and Glenwing, and for her mother and for Eragon.

_Arya._ Firen's deep voice resonated in her mind. It was grave and sad, but there was also comfort. Slowly, the grief faded to a dull heaviness in her chest.

"I wish you could have known them, all of them," Arya whispered through her tears, walking over to the window where Firnen rested his head. He looked at her with his amber eyes, not saying anything. Arya rested her forehead against his snout, letting his breath bathe her face in warmth.

_But I do know them. I know them through your memories and through the stories you've told me. They live on in our hearts and minds._ Firnen's tail twitched, and he arched is neck, peering past Arya into the hut. _I can see Oromis making tea. It was his favorite, wasn't it? _

Arya smiled. _Yes, he claimed it was therapeutic. It prevented his seizures as well._ She walked to the far wall where Oromis kept all his books and scrolls. She ran her finger along the spines. She paused at a large tome bound with worn, faded leather. She pulled it off the shelf and brought it outside. She sat leaning against Firnen's side, the book open in her lap. _This one was Oromis' favorite: __The History of Alagaesia and the Races_._ It has been passed from rider to rider for centuries. It was usually held by a senior rider who recorded everything that happened while the book was in his or her possession. Vrael gave it to Oromis before he went to Vroengard. He's recorded everything that happened up to his death. _Arya flipped to the last page that had writing.

_It stops with him leaving Du Weldenvarden to confront Galbatorix's army. _Arya looked down at the Oromis' neat, artistic writing, tracing the letters with her fingers. The dark ink filled page after page in neat, uniform lines. _I suppose now it is my responsibility to record what happens._

Firnen nodded and stretched his wings. _Why do the elves and humans and dwarves record everything in scraps of paper bound in animal skins? Are your memories and stories not sufficient? _

Arya closed the book. _I don't know,_ she answered, fingering the gold lettering along the spine. _I suppose it is because we forget so easily. We forget where we were and where we came from. No human walking the land today remembers the land of their ancestors. Most don't even know that they came from across the sea ages ago in battered ships that survived only by some miracle. _Arya stood, putting the book into Firnen's saddlebag. She climbed into the saddle and strapped her legs in as Firnen flew into the sky. _ I think we write for a number of reasons. We write to remember the lessons taught by our ancestors. We write to remember where we have been and where we could go. But in the end, I believe we write to remember who we are._

Eragon clenched his teeth and wiped his palms on his pants. His eye twitched from the strain of keeping them open. In front of him, Saphira lay languidly in front of him, a smirk on her face, a single blue eye trained on his. With a yell of frustration, Eragon succumbed to the urge to blink. _I won again,_ Saphira said with a laugh. _ Just admit it, Eragon. You can never beat a dragon in a staring contest._

Eragon smiled ruefully. "I admit defeat, but I would like to see a match between a dragon and an Urgal," Eragon said, rubbing his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if they even have eyelids. Their stare is unnerving."

Saphira snorted disdainfully. _They're certainly better than you._ Eragon shouted in mock protest and jumped at her, playfully rubbing her snout.

_Take that back,_ Eragon demanded, trying to pin her head.

_Never._ Saphira snapped gently at Eragon, pulling her head back.

Eragon jumped back, laughing, and collapsed to the ground. He closed his eyes, savoring the sweet, clear air and the warmth of the sun on his face.

_ It's been so long since you truly laughed, Little One, _Saphira said as she curled up next to him. _I feel a lightness in your spirit I haven't felt since before the war truly started._

Eragon sighed, staring at the sky. _Some days I feel free of all burdens, like the weight I've been carrying since Garrow died has been lifted. Yet other times I still feel all the loss crashing down on me. It happens less often now, but I still wonder if I will ever be able to escape the memories that haunt me._

_ You can only get better, Little One. Remember, I will always be there to support you. And I'm not the only one. If you opened up to Roran, or Nasuada, or Arya, or even Murtagh, they would all help you in any way possible. _

Eragon sat up and turned to face Saphira. He placed his hand gently on Saphira's neck, rubbing her scales under his finger. He struggled to find the words to express his feelings, his gratitude, his fear, his hope, and found none adequate. Instead, he settled for silence, letting the feelings flow freely between them.

Roran groaned as he stretched his aching muscles. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he roughly brushed them away. Around him, the sounds of construction rang in a never ending melody of sounds. Masons cut blocks of stone and built up the outer walls of the castle. Carpenters and metal workers bent over their projects, oblivious to the noise around them.

The castle's construction was moving along more quickly than he had thought possible. Nasuada had sent the best craftsmen from the capitol, along with a virtual army of laborers and magicians to aid in the construction. Still, he refused to sit idly by, observing the construction from the shade of the overseer's tent. Turning, he saw Katrina approaching with Ismira in her arms. He climbed down the scaffolding as fast as his arms would allow, yearning to see his wife. It'd scarcely been seven hours since he'd left in the morning, but already he felt as if he hadn't seen her for years.

Roran met Katrina in the overseer's tent. Ignoring everyone else present, he caught her up in his arms and kissed her, careful not to crush their daughter between them. After a long moment, Roran broke the kiss, but he didn't let Katrina go.

"I came to see how everything was coming along," she said a slight blush on her cheeks. Ismira gurgled happily, as if agreeing with her mother.

"Well," the overseer began, "the construction is going very smoothly. We are proceeding more quickly than I had anticipated. The outer walls are almost halfway finished, as is the main keep. If the work continues at this pace, the castle will be finished in a little more than a year."

"That's wonderful. I'm so excited to move in. If you get the chance, tell Nasuada that we are grateful for her help. I'm sure her contributions have helped immensely," Katrina said with a smile. "Well, I'll let you get back to your work." She gave Roran a quick kiss on the cheek and walked back the way she'd come.

Roran watched them go, a smile on his face. He turned to the overseer as they passed out of sight. "So, the work goes well," he said, looking down at the plans.

"Yes. Very well. Although the sewage system still needs to be modified," the overseer said, pointing to the plans in front of her, "everything else is finalized. The work crews, aided by the magicians, are working faster than I thought possible. In all my years, I've never seen a project go this well."

"Yes," Roran replied, looking out at the workers. "I'm very fortunate. Without Nasuada's aid, it would have taken me a decade to build this castle myself." Roran looked down at the papers on the table in front of him. Number and complex calculations filled page after page, making his head swim. He pushed the papers back, opting to examine the blueprints instead.

"Yes. I've heard many things about you, among them that the queen favors you because you killed her father's murderers, Stronghammer. It seems to me that what I've heard is true. She's given you a paradise to rule." The overseer smiled, looking out over Palancar Valley.

Roran didn't need to look to see the beauty of the land. He'd memorized every valley, every hill, and every knoll as a child. He could recognize the flowers by scent and the places they grew. "It certainly is a paradise," Roran agreed.

"Sometimes I find myself wanting to move out of Uru'baen, or Illirea, as it's now called, taking up a simple farmer's life." The overseer smiled wistfully.

"Why don't you? Do you have family in the city?" Roran asked, curious.

"No, I don't have family. My parents died of a plague when I was a child, and I have no siblings. That I know of," she jested.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," Roran apologized, but the overseer brushed the apology aside.

"You couldn't have known." The overseer paused, her brow furrowed in thought. "I honestly don't know what's keeping in Illirea," she finally said. She looked down at the table, tracing a knot in the wood absently with her finger. "Every time I want to leave, something stops me. I guess I'm just too afraid of change," she said ruefully, not looking up.

Roran opened his mouth, but closed it, not knowing what to say. He turned and walked out of the tent, leaving the overseer staring down at the table sightlessly.

**I'm still alive! In all seriousness, though, I'm really sorry for the long delay in this new chapter. The last term of school has been crazy. I've had project after project, then finals and band stuff. But summer's here now, so I should be able to post a new chapter every week. Thanks for waiting so patiently. I really appreciate it.**

** -Wendy**


	7. Chapter 6

"How is your father doing?" Nasuada asked Ethen as they walked to the council meeting. "I hope he will get better quickly. His presence has a way of keeping things civil and calm during meetings."

Ethen shook his head. "Unfortunately, he seems to be even worse than before. His skin is pale and he lacks the strength and vitality he had just weeks before. When the sickness first set in, he was still able to sit up and feed himself. Now he barely has energy to speak, and a nurse must feed and clean him. Yesterday he developed a fever. The doctor says he doesn't have much longer to live. The only thing that can save him now is a miracle."

Nasuada heard the sadness in his voice, and she couldn't help but want to reach out and comfort him. "I pray that he does get well. You are close to your father, are you not?"

"Yes. We're very close," Ethen replied, a tear sliding down his cheek. He quickly brushed it away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't bother you with my family troubles. We're going to be late for the meeting if I keep this up." He smiled and offered his arm to Nasuada. "Shall we continue on?"

Nasuada took his arm. "Your father's health is no bother to me. He is one of the few people I trust. I'll send my magicians and physicians to examine him tomorrow. Perhaps they will find something that your doctors could not. And don't worry about being late. A queen is never late, because nothing can start without her." Ethen laughed at her words, and Nasuada smiled, glad that she could lift his spirits.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. For everything. If there is anything at all that I can do to repay you, just say the word."

Nasuada smiled. "Perhaps a kiss?" she joked.

Ethen stopped walking and took her hand in his. Suddenly, Nasuada was acutely aware of how close they were. She could smell his musky and see the slight stubble growing on his cheek. With his free hand, he cupped her cheek. "It would be my pleasure," he whispered. He bowed low and planted a kiss on her hand. Nasuada stared down at him, shocked and disappointed. Ethen's face broke into a rakish grin. "Not what you were expecting?" he asked.

"No. That wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Nasuada admitted with a wry smile. "However, it was nice, nonetheless. Shall we continue to the meeting? If I'm delayed any longer the guards will have think you've spirited me away to your secret dungeons." She pulled her hand from his and strode down the hall, a blush staining her cheeks.

"Vanir has arrived, Your Majesty," Dathedr announced.

Arya looked up in surprise. "He's early." Arya turned to the two young elves beside her. "I suppose we'll have to end our lesson here today. You have the rest of the day off. However, I still expect you tomorrow morning." Dusan and Alanna nodded, gathering their things together.

"Atra du evarínya ono varda, Ebrithil." The two young elves bowed and strode out of the hall.

"Shall I call him in?" Dathedr asked.

"Yes. Bring him in."

Vanir walked in with Dathedr following close behind. When he reached the dais, he touched his lips and twisted his hand over his sternum and bowed. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda," Arya replied with a bow of her head, following the traditional elven greeting.

"Un atra or'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," said Vanir in reply, finishing the greeting.

"We weren't expecting you for another two weeks. What brought you back early?" Arya inquired.

"Bother Nasuada and I felt that it was necessary that our races become closer. She has extended an invitation for you to visit Ilirea, and she asked me to personally deliver it."

"I see." Arya paused for a moment. "Does this invitation also extend to the other races as well?"

"It does, Your Majesty."

Arya nodded. "I accept the invitation. I take it the invitation also extends to a contingent of elven magicians, nobles, and warriors."

"It does." Vanir nodded in affirmation.

"Very well. We'll leave in four days. I expect you'll want some rest after your journey. I will host a private banquet tonight for you and the others I will select to make the journey to Ilirea."

"I will inform Queen Nasuada right away. Also, if I may ask, have you heard any word from Eragon?"

Arya's brow furrowed slightly. "No. I've not heard anything from him. Why do you ask?"

Vanir paused, his face flushing. He cleared his throat before replying. "I wondered after his well being, as well as that of the elves that went with him and the dragons. I look forward seeing a new generation of Riders."

Arya guessed the reason for his inquiry. Her mouth twitched up in a small smile. "As I said, I haven't heard anything from him. However, I will let you know as soon as I do." Satisfied, Vanir bowed and left the room. As he left, Arya turned to Dathedr. "He has high ambitions," she commented.

Dathedr laughed. "Yes. Becoming a Rider is no small task."

Arya joined in, remembering the way Vanir had fidgeted and the blush that covered his cheeks. "No, it certainly isn't. But neither is ruling. I know both my parents ruled in more trying times, but at times I still wish I was just an ambassador." She touched her shoulder where her yawe tattoo marked her skin.

"Your parents may have had a war and a mad tyrannical king to face, but you are tasked with the responsibility of rebuilding. Many times it is the healing process that is the most difficult."

"My father used to tell me that when I was a child," Arya remembered. "Well, I have some personal matters that I need to attend to," she said to Dathedr after a moment. "I will see you at the banquet tonight." Dathedr bowed in response, and then he was gone, leaving Arya by herself.

Murtagh lay motionless in the sand, squinting through the heat of the desert. He glared down at the slavers' camp, watching as they pitched their tents and built fires. They laughed and sang as they worked, completely ignoring their prisoners who sat chained together, burning under the sun. Children taunted the prisoners, shrieking in delight at their misery. Murtagh ground his teeth in disgust. His fingers gripped Zar'roc's hilt tightly beneath his cloak.

_Don't do anything rash,_ Thorn warned.

Murtagh glanced at the sand dunes behind him where Thorn lay hidden among the undulating waves stretching forever in every direction.

_I can handle a couple of poorly trained slave traders,_ Murtagh replied with contempt. _They are children compared to me. _

_ You can't kill them all._

_ I can, and I will. They deserve death for what they've done. Look at the way they are treating those people! They take better care of their animals._

_ What about that infant, lying in the shade of the tents, tended by his mother? Does he deserve death as well? He's done nothing wrong._

_ Don't council me on right and wrong,_ Murtagh replied angrily._ I know both better than most. If I let that child live, he will grow and become a monster like his parents. _

_ What if he doesn't? What if his parents die?_

_ Then he will be left with nothing. Death would be more merciful,_ Murtagh snapped. He rose into a crouch, loosening Zar'roc from its sheath.

_Murtagh, don't do this,_ Thorn warned, but his warning fell on deaf ears. Murtagh was already running down the sand dune towards the slavers' camp. Thorn heard the warning cries from the camp, and the fierce answering calls of the warriors. Some with long curved swords mounted camels and charged towards Murtagh while others on foot grabbed spears and bows. With a growl, Thorn launched himself into the air and flew towards the camp to help his rider.

Murtagh could feel his pulse quickening. He suddenly felt alive. Laughing, he dispelled his wards. Then the slavers were upon him and he let his instincts take over. Zar'roc flew in savage blows, like it had a mind of its own. Murtagh smiled, reveling in the weight of his sword in his hand and the feel of flesh and bone giving way beneath his blade.

Suddenly, Thorn was there beside him, scattering the attackers like chaff in the wind. They drew back in panic, cowering at the sight of the dragon. Murtagh took advantage of their fear, cutting them down one by one. The terrified screams of women and children drew him towards the camp. He pursued them as they ran, hardly seeing through the haze of his frenzy. Men, women, and children alike fell beneath his rage.

_Murtagh, you need to stop this madness. You are no better than Galbatorix, slaughtering hundreds of innocents!_ Thorn swept his tail at Murtagh's legs, knocking him off his feet.

The last of the slavers disappeared over dunes as Murtagh sat up. Hastily extinguished fires smoldered around the campsite. Lopsided, half erected tents were abandoned. The ground was dusted in blood and bodies of the dead and dying. Murtagh felt bile rise in his throat at the sight. "What have I done," he whispered, Zar'roc hanging loosely in his hand. Thorn remained silent. The only sound to be heard was the groans of the wounded and the whistling of the wind.

**So I guess I won't upload every week… I'm really sorry though. I always make plans to update more often, but the ideas take a while to form coherently. However, I will say that I already have an idea for the next chapter, so hopefully it will be out before the end of July. I sincerely appreciate every one for your support and patience. **

**Wendy**


	8. Author's Note 2

I'm going to put this story on hold. I know that I said I had an idea for the next chapter, and I still do. But right now with marching band and sophomore year with AP physics, my schedule is tight and I barely have time to write. I also feel like my writing style is changing, and I have to see where that leads. I plan on rereading the books when I have time to freshen up my memory and get more inspiration. I hope I can pick this story up again around Thanksgiving. I'm really sorry for my sporadic updates and empty promises. And I want to thank everyone who's stuck with me and read up to this point. It really means a lot to me. Until then, may the Lord bless you and keep you all.

Wendy


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